


A Hobby for Shadwell

by molieretzu



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Cooking, F/M, Ficlet, Fluff, Grumpy Shadwell, I don't know what people make for romantic dinners, Madame Tracy has the patience of a saint, and is also a bit sneaky, fictober19
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 08:07:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20904377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/molieretzu/pseuds/molieretzu
Summary: Being a witchfinder was everything to Shadwell. It was essentially his entire personality. Now that he's retired, he's driving Madame Tracy a bit bonkers. The poor man obviously needs a hobby.





	A Hobby for Shadwell

Two could live as cheaply as one, especially when one of the two subsisted mostly on tinned milk, but Tracy had not accounted for the added wear and tear on her nerves. Shadwell, the great dear, was at sixes and sevens after giving up witch finding, and had decided to be even more of a miseryguts than usual about it.

She’d managed to introduce the concept of actual, proper food in solid form, and even taught Shadwell the basics of making toast. As much as Tracy liked having someone to take care of, she’d be damned if she was going to do _all _the cooking: the whole point of living together (“Livin’ In sin,” Shadwell had complained, but more out of habit than anything; he certainly hadn’t done anything to change their status, not that she minded) was to take care of each other. Shadwell had issued forth a string of unintelligible swear words the whole time, but he hadn’t been able to entirely hide the pride when he’d finally presented her with almost perfectly acceptable toast, only a little bit charred.

It had given her an Idea, and now Tracy decided it was time for step two of her plan.

“Maybe you could do the eggs, dear?” she suggested mildly.

Shadwell froze. “What dae ye want me to do wi’ ‘em?”

“Just boil them, dear. Seven minutes should do it.” This did not appear to help, and Tracy took pity on the poor man. “Honestly, I don’t know how you survived all these years on your own. I’ll show you.”

After only a few eggy casualties and three scalded fingers (“The spoon — use the slotted spoon, dearie”), they had produced two eggs that could generously be described as soft boiled. One was too runny by half, and the other had cracked and leaked albumin in unsettling blobs, but they were edible and Shadwell was practically glowing with poorly concealed triumph.

“Absolutely delicious, dear. You have quite a talent for cooking.”

“Aye?” Shadwell dipped a toast soldier into the runny yolk, swirling it thoughtfully. “I always thought of cookin’ as wimmin’s work, ye ken, but it’s not so bad.”

Internally, Tracy rolled her eyes. “Everyone needs to eat, and a lot of famous chefs are men. Cooking is for everyone.”

“Hmm.”

“And, of course, most women find it incredibly sexy when their partner prepares a meal for them,” she added casually.

From the way Shadwell’s bushy eyebrows shot up, she knew she’d hit her mark.

The great silly wasn’t going to let on what he was doing, of course, but over the course of the next few weeks he only gave the most perfunctory of grumbles when asked to make the salad or boil the sprouts. The cookbooks started disappearing off the shelves, and their shared computer’s browser history now included searches for “easy romantic meals for yer woman,” “sexy cooking,” and “what tae feck is blanching ye wee box of mischief.” (Also “sexy things to do with broccoli,” the results for which made even Tracy blush.) Food started disappearing from fridge and cabinets and reappearing in their rubbish bin, inexpertly hidden and usually scorched.

Tracy said nothing, simply replacing the missing food and turning a blind eye when Shadwell furtively added extra ingredients to their shopping basket. What he planned to do with the dill weed, anchovies, and apple butter was unclear, and a little worrying, but at least he was trying.

Eventually, Shadwell announced he had a surprise for her, and ushered her into their little dining room. The table was laid — spoons on the wrong side, glasses mismatched, and the candle was unaccountably shaped like a penguin.

“I made ye supper,” Shadwell announced.

Tracy had decades of experience pretending to be surprised by men, and had gotten rather good at it. “Oh, my dear, how lovely! I just might kiss you.”

“It’s nothin’ fancy, ye ken, but t’Innernet said,” he harrumphed and changed tack. “Sit ye down, woman, and I’ll bring it out.”

It turned out to be egg-in-a-basket, chips, and beans from a tin. The hole in the bread wasn’t quite round, and Tracy realized the jagged blob was meant to be a heart. “Oh, this looks just marvelous. Breakfast for supper — so indulgent!” She carried on praising the food as he poured out wine from a bottle with either a surfboard or a heavily stylized vulva on it; the label (“Kowabunga”) implied it was the former, but Tracy found the latter interpretation more amusing. It tasted like toe jam mixed with tannins and rubbing alcohol, but it was the thought that counted.

The rest of the meal, though, was actually quite nice, and Shadwell beamed at every appreciative noise and expression. He’d even made trifle for dessert: the custard and sponge were clearly storebought, but he’d definitely assembled it himself, because no store could put together a trifle like that and expect to stay in business very long.

“I was thinkin’,” he said, shooting her a sidelong glance, “that I might do more of the cookin’. It’s nae hard, after all, and it’s sort of interestin’. Unless you dinnae think it’s a good idea?”

Tracy ate her last spoonful of trifle with great deliberation, maintaining eye contact. “I think that is a marvelous idea. There is nothing sexier than a man who cooks.” Or at least a man who isn’t bored out of his mind by retirement and expecting her to entertain him constantly. “Now, about that kiss I mentioned?”


End file.
